I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution, we became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separated from itself, we are creatures that should not exist by nature law. We are things that labored under the allusion that having a self, this accretion of sensory experience and feeling, programmed with totally assurance that we are each somebody, when, in fact, everybody’s nobody. I think the honorable thing for our species to do is denying our programming, stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction, one last midnight, brothers and sisters, opting out of a raw deal.
I tell myself I bear witness to real answer that is always my programming, and I lack the constitution for suicide. If the only thing keeping a person decent is the expectation of divine reward, and brother, that person is a piece of shit. Certain linguistic anthropologist thinks that religion is a language virus that rewrites the pathway as in the brain. People, I’ve seen the finale of thousands of lives, young, old. Each one was so sure of their realness, and know their sensory experience constituted an unique individual, with purpose and meaning, so certain that they were more than a biological puppet. Well, the truth wheels out, and every body sees, once a string is cut off, all down.
We process time linearly forward, but outside our spacetime, from what would be a fourth-dimensional prospective, time wouldn’t exist, and from that vantage, could we obtain it, we’d see that our spacetime looked flattened, like a single sculpture that matter, in a superposition of every place it ever occupied, our sentience just cycling through our lives like carts on a track. See, everything outside our dimension, that’s eternity, eternity look down on us. Now, to us, it’s a sphere, but to them, it’s a circle. And eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow, nothing can become, nothing changes. So death created time, to grow the things that it have to kill, and you are reborn, but into the same life, that you’ve always being born into. And how many times did we have this conversation, and who knows. And you can’t remember your lives, can’t chang your lives, and that is the terrible secret fate of all lives. You are trapped, in that nightmare you keep waken up into.
That’s what I mean, when I’m talking about time and death, and futility, there are broader ideas at work, mainly what is owed between us as a society for our mutual illusions, and 14 straight hours of staring at the DBs, these, are things that you think of. You ever done that? You looked into their eyes, even in pictures, doesn’t matter whether they are dead or alive, you can still read them, and you know what you see? You know they welcomed it. Hmm, not at first, but right there in the last instinct. It’s an unmistakable relief, see, cuz,’ they were afraid, and now they saw for the very first time, how easy it was to just let go, and they saw, in the last nanosecond, they saw what they were, that you, and yourself, this whole big drama, was never anything but a jerry-rig presumption and a dumb will, and you can just let go, and finally know that you didn’t have to hold on so tight, to realize that all your life, you know, all your love and all your hate, all your memory and all your pain, it was all the same thing, was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room, a dream about being a person.